Without Her But Everything
by borderlandtvshow
Summary: Short Story, based on episode "Home Of The Brave"-Anthony and Tali's life after a shared tragedy; in France, they begin again. Reviews are always loved.
1. OXE

_Tali and Tony leave for Paris. Will stay there indefinitely._

In a lamp-lit room hung a clock. The clock ticked-tocked along with evened breathes escaping the man, He looked around for any sign of life, but still continued waiting.

"Bonjour" a quick knock came on the mahogany door as it opened and shut. Tony noticed the middle-aged woman with a plain face and dull long brown hair pulled back in a low sitting pony-tail. She wore tortoise frames and kaikis with a dark red wool blazer. "Anthony. How are we today?"

It was his off-day, his daughter was in the care of some young women at a crèche. He started his new job a few months prior , then a coworker and his family, also having career roots in the American Department of Defense, became a critical part of Tony's adjustment here. During a mid-afternoon break, his new friend learnt of Tony's most recent adventure; the loss and the gain of a child. In turn, he exchanged some sound advice of making an appointment with Dr. Moreau, a local trilingual psychologist. So here he sat,staring at the doctor crossing over to a large leather arm chair with a notepad clutched in her grasp.

"Uh, bonjour." He said nervously, twiddling his thumbs. He hadn't been in the presence of a psychologist, who in fact, her sole-purpose was to analyze him, in years. He thought just by the meer response to her greeting, that the woman could dig up some luring dark creature from his youthhood.

The formalities ensued, a discussion, seeming to be like small-talk followed. Then, questions were asked as a continuance of the last session he went to. God, the prickling in his chest cavity slowly started up again.

"Tony?" the doctor beckoned his attention, "You're far away, again. Come back."

His eyes lifted back to the Moreau's kind eyes and sighed, he gulped before he opened his mouth, except no words could escape. How could he answer a question (or questions) that held that magnitude, when he couldn't even pinpoint an answer?

 _Is it guilt, Tony?_

The question was posed and so he became still, silent, and unable to connect his mind to his mouth. She asked the question again, her french accent light, leaning forward in her seat she examines his movements, every hesitant delicate motion, "You describe her with such admiration. You loved her, you tell me-"

"I _still_ love her." His teeth were gritted, fighting back a tear.

Her voice was monotone, eyes still trained on him. "She is gone, Anthony." She sees his eyes turn away from her and look out the window, where it is neutral ground. "I know you know she is, but you still have doubts. I can see it."

He clears his throats and slowly looks back to the doctor, emotions coursing through his blood stream, blood pressure elevated. "Is it so wrong?"

"Is it so wrong to what, Tony?"

A single water droplet slid down his cheek, "To have hope."

One layer of the onion skin has finally been pulled back. Progress.

"It is never wrong to have hope." He runs his palms over his cheeks at the conclusion of her words. "But," she says, "it is wrong when that hope becomes your downfall. If you want to have any relationship with your daughter in the future, you have to live for right now. It is hard, I know, but this is grieving. It is not forever."

"What am I supposed to do?" He shrugs his shoulders, really not knowing where to begin. "Accept it? Accept-" He stopped himself before he dug up her name along with the levity of the situation.

"This is what I want you to do." Moreau moves to put the pad down and moving her glasses to her head, "You. Must. Live. Look at what you do have. You have a new job in a brand new country, a 'fresh start', I believe is the english term, yes?" He nods. "You have lost, and it hurts and you are angry and rightfully so...but you have gained something so valuable."

"What am I supposed to do, doc? Wake up and turn off the memories and the-"

"Guilt? You think that part of what happened is your fault." It wasn't a question.

He would've been angry with the insinuation any other day, but it was time he was honest. To be honest with himself, first and foremost. All he could do was glance down to his watch then to the floral wallpaper with an evergreen background.

"Look at yourself in the mirror everyday and ask yourself who you want to be in, let's say, a year, five years, etcetera, then ask yourself what you can do today to get there."


	2. TXO

The man remembers like it were only a few days ago; he sits at the bar table, mindlessly looking into his half glass of bourbon. Two ice cubes dance in the ember liquid, the familiar taste reminded him of the adopted family he left behind in America.

A dive bar, nearly vacant at an hour like this, was the last place he thought he'd wind up; but, then again, he knew a vast majority of his life isn't what he imagined, so why keep playing the damn game.

The wave hits him one more time, like a current crashes into the shoreline, he is brought back, back to May...

 _The sound of tapping evened out, his fingertips now turning pink from the nervous behavior. He then rested his hands on the plastic airline arm. He looked over to his right side to then notice a very familiar little girl with honey-brown locks. The strands poked out from a small cream coloured blanket the little girl was wrapped in due to the onboard chilling temperatures._

 _The temperature wasn't the only thing that seemed uncomfortable; the idea of where their plane landed was unbearable. He told Gibbs he would be leaving for answers, he hoped to God he would be able to obtain at least a little more than some bull excuses and patronizing run-arounds with Mossad._

 _He had to have Talia in his sights, so she was right beside him when Orli's aids approached him at the headquarters threshold. They said nothing, just cordially escorted him._

 _He saw her face on the screen, a pre-recorded moving image of the woman who had ripped his heart out three years ago. No, she didn't rip it out, he was the one who forced her to take it and never bothered to ask for it back. Her face was bare of makeup, strands of dark hair loose from the rest of its form. He notices the shadows of her face, if she wasn't just memory in a computer drive, he would beckon her attention and ask about her nutrient intake, if she was sleeping well, if she needed someone to talk to. But, he couldn't do any of that, all he could do was what he was already, indeed, doing._

 _He held onto the screen of the laptop as he watched, listened._

 _"...and my heart breaks at the thought. Tony, I…" she pauses to pull out the bi-tonal Paris picture. He breathes in it every single day, an image permanently inked in his subconscious. "I am packing this for our daughter. You see," her voice breaking, closing her eyes at a slower pace to let the tears escape. "I know you will love her and care for her as much as I have had the pleasure to give." She says, "and even though, my reasons for the secrecy, the hiding from you... Tony, trust me when I say, if either her or both of us are met with an end, I would not think twice to save her."_

 _"It didn't have to end like this!" He caught himself yelling at the screen. There are some things, he will learn, that never ever will be explained. Grief is absent of acceptance._

 _"I was sick long before Kort's revival. I will not speak on that aspect. My last wish is for you to live your life. The best gift you could have ever given me is the honor that I have found in motherhood."_

 _He feels love. His fingertip traces the lines of her face on the screen, feeling nothing back but slick plastic film._

 _"...so, it's your turn. One day she will stop asking for me, stop crying for me, and cry for her father. She will trust you not because she has to, but because you want her to." She smiles, and tilts her head into her palm. "She will come home and cry because of a boy or nasty names. One day she will ask about me, tell her anything she wants to know. And, one day she will hurt, you will ask yourself what you could do to ease the heartache, and then realize, sometimes you can't be the mender you wish you could be. The truth is, all you need to do is just listen."_

 _Warmth overcame him, suddenly he misses his daughter, he knows Orli's assistant is watching her in another room, but all he wants is to hold onto the child and never let go. How could it be possible, to feel home-sick about someone so small...and still, so recent?_

 _"And one day, she will be grown, happy and content in her own career, her own life with you as a grandfather, a best friend….but, know in your heart, there will be a day that comes in the blink of an eye, when we will see eachother again." A pause, "I love you."_

The bourbon was gone, the ice significantly smaller than they were originally. But, he smiles. He smiles not for the absence of pain, but the knowledge of a new purpose, a new reason to live. He had a movie waiting at home and a daughter to pick up soon. Perhaps, she could be the champion of cinema trivia. Who knows? Maybe. One day.


	3. 3XE

**2nd Edit. 4th & Final Chapter Needs inspiration. What would you like to see? ~Tikvah**

And so, like displaced migrants, they continue on. A crafted tradition draws them together.

Sweet caramel curls bobbed up and down as she skipped and shifted round a light post. The child dressed herself in the predictable summer outfit, white shorts and an olive green tee. Regardless of the day, one thing about her attire remained the same from season to season: a gilded star above her heart.

Their World War II -era cinema house was an exquisite structure; it blended in well with the rest of the buildings on the avenue. Every third Samedi, Anthony DiNozzo would be accompanied by his daughter to the movie theatre for the early bird "hallmarks in film history". In the beginning, Tali would reluctantly doze off. Then, he would wake her because "it's the good part". But, regardless of her father's persistence, Tali grew to love this time and so did he.

He leans himself against the brick wall, as she anxiously awaits for the theater doors to open. He keeps an eye on his girl, but his mind wanders back to _yesterday_ :

He is woken up by a small thud and a series of whimpers echoing from down the hall. He dashed off and found his daughter on the floor, sitting up with papers in her hands.

He isn't given a chance to ask a question because she immediately asks about the one subject he dares bring up. _What was she like?_ The question ricochets off the back of his head causing him to lose his balance for a second. Then, he notices her face. Puffy, pink, eyebrows creased; he saw that pain before in a woman he knew long ago, so familiar because it is familiar. This time he knows the solution would be to say something true, because honesty is better than condolences. He beckons her to scoot over so he could wrap his arm around her. She shares the papers that she had been holding, _photographs_.Some of them are too haunting for him to look at without feeling a physical stimulus; others are easier to digest, maybe even a little joyful.

"I see you went through my closet." He sounded disappointed and a bit mystified. Her head swung down, believing she had done something wrong. He notices, so he remarks at one of the photos, "This one is a picture of your mother way before you were born." He explained, "it was Christmas day at work." A few more photos and a few laughs later, he decided to get up to fetch his wallet. He came back and pulled out a picture of Tali as a baby with Ziva. He got his hands on the picture when he journeyed to Israel for the answers. "You keep this."

She beamed, holding the picture over her heart. "What about you? I take this and you won't have it anymore."

He loved her concern, "I have you."

She hugged him one more time, this time in gratitude.

"Don't think of this as the last you have of her." He spoke from experience.

"You had said I was like my mother." She reminds him. "How?"

"Besides the obvious…she fought like hell for the things she felt passionate about."

"Like what?"

He remembered that Ziva instructed him to tell Tali anything she wanted to know about her. Right now, he is honoring that; but, she won't know everything…until she has asked _everything_.

"Justice. Peace. Love. Hate…the list could go on." It was a long list. "I see that fighter spirit in you."

"I don't punch people."

"Tali, you don't have to physically fight someone to be a fighter. You stand up for what's right."

She looked down again to her feet, "I don't know about that. She sounds amazing, I'm just-"

"You. You're you. You're not your mother. She wouldn't want you to be. Look, Tali, she had this thing about honor." Obsessed with it actually. "She had faults just like the rest of us. You accept that, embrace it, and just by showing your courage and strength, you would be honoring her. You remember that."

She is always reminded with love her father shows her. He found great solace in knowing she depends on him, and in some ways he depends on her. She takes refuge in him when life brings the worst and throws away the little good available. As she grows and matures, she will learn more about the truth, even the brutal parts and the harsh realities, but for now they enjoy the little things.

They both sat in the theater, taking turns at the popcorn when she recognized a line spoken by the little boy on the screen. Her chewing slows while she comes up with all these scenarios in which she would've heard or seen the line and then déjà vu. She reached into her jacket, grasping for a tiny picture. When turned over she was astonished by the cursive print, inscribed by her mother:

" _It's only with the heart that one can see clearly. What's essential is invisible to the eye"7-21-2014_

One truth uncovered in that moment when she realized she didn't have to look hard to find her mother; she was already in every little trinket, item, and fracture in her life.


	4. FXR

Some things are lost in translation. Some things are harder to lose. And some things never change nor are forgotten. They are begged to be heard.

"You don't get it! _I'm the one_ who never had a chance...with her." Of all the times she ignored him from the dwelling she created from the old window pane and dusty window of her old room.

blank staring contest, this moment was soon coming. He knew she had been thinking of her, when a daughter grows older, curiosity gets the best of her. It began with the Star hanging above her heart, then a trip to Jerusalem. Now, it's back to the start of her parent's journey: the City of Magnificent Intentions.

"Talia." He wants so much to be able to give her the answer. Whatever it was. Give her the key to cease the panging, the aching in her heart of hearts. Pain is the constant he had felt for most of his life, when a memory came by like a whip to the face.

"No." Her hand fell from her face and onto the bridge's cold rail. All she could see in this weather was her own self-created depiction of her mother's ghost. It never seemed more haunting than this. Of all the places she had been and all of the years that had gone by, now and here provoked the marrow to begin seeping.

The Washington monument could be seen in her peripheral as her chocolate hair mixed with its gold streaks. Her face mirrored the uneasiness he felt for so long. He doesn't want to remain quiet, but he needs to let her speak, so he stands by his daughter. He is grounded in the wooden planks over the metal bridge hovering over the Potomac. Winter weather makes the whole sky gray and the wind spontaneously brisk.

"It's funny." Her eyes are solemn, looking into the water below her.

He swallows his discomfort and mirrors her body language, leaning into the railing. "What's that?" He's watching a single passenger sail through the current. The yellow color of the lifejacket stand out from the forefront of the monotone landscape.

"I don't remember being here, I don't remember the place where I met you, yet…" Her voice trails off in the heaviness. She gulps, not wanting to shed a tear.

"You were young."

"I feel like she ran down this bridge. Did she?" What she didn't tell him was the chronic sensation of being plunged into a deep water, freezing with the remembrance of her mother. Bittersweetness of a wonderful and sad figuration.

He smiled small and breathed in deep. "Yes. She did. There were a few occasions where I went with her."

"I bet she was fast, huh?"

He chuckles, "Ah, Tali, she was faster than me. That's for sure.."

Her smiled faded and took one last glance over the railing. He watched her amble to the middle of the bridge and wipe her face in frustration. Her movement became sharp. He knew what was coming. A hurricane.

"Why didn't you stop her from leaving? Why couldn't you force her on that plane? Why!"

"I had this discussion with you already." His breath hitched and the pulse rate rose.

"Maybe you did. But, you hide things away from me and put them in your damn closet. Do you not want me know? You think I can't handle whatever _it_ is?"

"I couldn't stop her. You could ask anyone who knew her and they'd tell you the same thing, Tali."

"At least _they_ had the privilege." It was more exhaustion now than anger in her voice. Her father turned from the bridge and started walking towards the other side of the bridge, leaving Talia to follow him or be left behind.

She stared through his back. She slowly picked up pace. When he heard her footsteps near, he simply said to her: "We cannot change to past."

"No! You had the chance."

"I didn't Tali!" He didn't want to yell at his only daughter who meant more to him than life itself. But, this was a topic that fractured him over and over again. "I felt guilty for too damn long to be pulled back into this self-shaming." His voice became quiet and he turned back to walking.

It was she who suddenly felt guilt. One thing is for certain, her ability to self-condem when she caused someone agony, was just like her mother. A moment passed until she decided to move herself up to his side. His eyes found her, weakly smiling.

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't be." He stopped at a coffee cart, handing her a hot cup of tea; a full city roast for himself. "Look, I admit a lot of things would be different. Maybe better in some aspects of life; things happen for a reason, good and bad. Your grandmother, my mother passed away when I needed her the most. And that affected you grandfather, which really affected me. I guess in someway that pushed me into law enforcement."

"And you would've never met her…" She shrugged, "Maybe I'm just going to have to make lemons out of lemonade."

"Make lemonade out of lemons." He corrected her.

"Oh. Well, that makes more sense."

Taking a sip of the warm liquid, he looked over to his daughter and instantly was reminded to his lost love's inability to grasp at American idioms along with the uncanny resemblances.

"We've really gotta work on your _American_ before you start your junior year here in the fall." He said with a concerned look.

"Don't worry." She prolonged the last syllable. "I got this like, uh, rice being covered by its whiteness."

She laughs when he pinches his temple. "Just say 'white on rice'."

She decided to go back to her French she had long used in her education in Paris. "Uh, to a good cat, a good rat." He looked over with a scrutinizing face. "Hm. You know that sounds better in French.."

He took another sip of coffee before throwing it into the green trash bin. "I love you, Tee." He says it not because she needs to be reminded. She knows he does as she is shown by his actions, everyday. He says it because even in the most small and insignificant glimpses in time, he cherishes them if they include her. Things were never simple; things were never supposed to be easy. But, they both have survived and have prospered. These moments transcend time and he hopes that by the love he gives her that she, too, will make her life better than what he even imagined for himself. That is only what a parent can hope for. That is all he gives her.


End file.
